Under, Over, Around
by SyrenHug
Summary: Ryoma was the wind, hard to understand, and Jiroh the sun; bright and hard to deny. They make it work.


Ugh.

I need to write fluff more often. But I love the angst, the angst, the angst.

Warnings: Language. Idiocy.

Note: I have a Kirihara/Ryoma/Jiroh shot in the works. It's so weird.

* * *

It started with a tree.

The never talked (unless you considered Jiroh's meaningless babble). It was a situation that occurred at every competition that their respective teams were contending in. Ryoma didn't really mind it. He'd been reluctant to allow the older boy to share the same sleeping place as him. But, Jiroh did sleep.

They divided the tree into two separate spaces. Jiroh liked the side where the sun was always particularly bright and he took the side that the wind was most prominent. No one went beyond their side. There was no impromptu switching. If someone was in the middle of napping then there were no circumstances- besides the zombie apocalypse or a game about to start- that justified being woken.

There were boundaries and they had to be respected. That was, until Jiroh ventured unto his side.

"Echizen."

He startled, cap slipping off his face. He'd been so, so close to a nice dream filled with Ponta and the ocean.

"Damn you."

The person laughed. It was high and happy. "Ooooohh. You cursed."

Ryoma didn't think he'd heard a person make such a childish noise since first grade. Sighing, he kicked his feet and leaned up onto his elbows. His vision was greeted with curly boyish hair and a wide smile. How could a person keep so much happy inside? He shuddered just imagining it. "Was there something you wanted?"

"I want something to drink."

What that had to do with him was beyond his reach. "And?"

Jiroh rocked on his heels. "Want to come?"

No. He wanted Karupin to live forever. He wanted Momo to get a better bicycle. He wanted to win Nationals. He wanted to _sleep_. But, for some reason, when he saw Jiroh's expression fall at his lack of reply, he choked a, "Mada mada dane."

The third year's loud cheer made him nauseous.

* * *

It continued. The tiny, almost miniscule change seemed to make Jiroh happy. He didn't understand why. They'd take turns buying the drinks (though he tended to persuade the older boy to pay with conversation) and spend the walk back in comfortable silence. Sometimes, surprisingly, Jiroh did understand how to be quiet.

"Good luck." Jiroh would say when he had to leave for a match. He found himself wanting to return the sentiment and didn't. All of that stuff stuck in his throat until he figured it would be better if he let it go.

* * *

"What's your favorite color?"

He rolled his eyes. "Mada mada dane."

"Whoa. I've never heard of that one."

"It's not- oh, fuck you." Ryoma said, exasperated as the older boy's lips quirked upwards. It was pleasant outside, that day, and they were huddled closer together to share the warmth and the wind. He didn't hate it.

Jiroh seemed unbothered by his language. Though, he doubted he'd hear the boy curse in their entire existence.

"Do you like Pocky?"

He turned his head and stared.

"If you don't like Pocky, then you're not human."

It was a dead serious proclamation and he didn't exactly dislike the stuff, but he liked bothering people. He'd never seen the older boy mad. "I guess I'm an alien then, Jiroh-senpai."

Weirdly, the older boy just smiled again; sweet and understanding in a way that had him feeling as if he'd just ran a hundred laps.

* * *

They leaned against the machine, sipping on their drinks. Jiroh made a face at the Ponta can in his hand. He resisted the urge to stick out his tongue. Hyotei snobs thinking they were too cool for Ponta. "But, seriously, favorite color?"

He frowned in thought. "Drink some of this and I'll tell you."

"Are you sure I won't die from a drug overdose?" Jiroh raised an eyebrow but there was a ripple of something within his voice that made Ryoma's head spin. He held out the drink, smirking when it was accepted. A tiny sip was taken and there was a sudden sputter of disgust. He laughed at the picture it made.

"I think I'm going into diabetic shock."

"Do you even know what that means?"

For a second, Jiroh really looked like he wanted him to fuck off, but said, proudly, "I'm on the same team as Atobe Keigo."

Ryoma took back the can. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

"You do realize that was an indirect kiss, hmm?"

He coughed because _dear God wasn't the sky just so pretty_.

* * *

"Echizen?"

"What?" He barely managed. He was half asleep already and he'd barely settled into his spot.

"Want to play a game of tennis tomorrow?"

He bit his lip, trying to move himself back into sleep. "Mada mada dane, senpai."

* * *

He decided he was never going to play tennis with Jiroh again.

* * *

"Why do you like to sleep so much?"

Ryoma looked over, confused. The older boy slept just as much as he did, at much more random moments. "I don't know. Why do you?"

His sudden interest wasn't noted. The reply was uncharacteristically serious, when it was given. "Dreams have more potential then reality. And sleeping makes the disappointment less."

It made sense, but it was weird coming from someone so seemingly joyful. "But then you're not really giving yourself a possibility to be fine, right? How do you know if you're going to be disappointed if you don't give it a chance?"

He could feel a brown stare pressing against him as he leaned back into his seat. Ryoma closed his eyes into the gentle rocking of moving. It was nice, soothing. Kind of like how Jiroh made him feel. Flushing, he started when he heard a murmur.

"Can I rest my head on your shoulder?"

He wanted to say no. There were people on the bus already preoccupied with their close proximity. Somehow, he knew that this was important to the older boy. That this was important to them. It would change the air of simplicity they had always had.

But he nodded and felt the feather light trickle of the older boy's head against his neck.

Ryoma accepted the fact that there was no way to change feelings.

* * *

"This is weird." He breathed, glancing between the bed and the doorway. Jiroh was leaning on the wall. He was unreadable, then. Usually, there was a clear sign to how he was feeling. But everything was closed off in wake of his statement.

"Why?" Was the only thing that Jiroh asked.

"Because we were friends and we're bo-"

"Boys?" Jiroh finished and Ryoma felt heavy with the weight of how disappointed he sounded. Had he ever let someone down before? "Atobe-buchou told me something when I told him I didn't like girls. He said that if anyone tried to make me feel guilty for it then they didn't deserve me."

Ryoma swallowed. Jiroh's eyes were slanted shards of anger he didn't want to cut himself on.

"So help me, Echizen, if your ashamed then that's your problem. Not mine. Understand?"

It wasn't the fact that they were boys that bothered him. He didn't really care about that. He'd just never liked anyone before. It was a foreign twist in his gut and upside tilt of the word.

Ashamed? No. Freaked out? Yes. But he understood. He was still pretty young, but Jiroh was reaching the age of having to be at least a tiny bit self-assured. This was a chance being taken.

"Mada mada dane, senpai." He smiled and when the older boy smiled back, he promised he wouldn't disappoint.

* * *

"You never told me your favorite color."

Ryoma wrapped his arms tighter around the older boy, content with the position. His father had walked in on them like that a few days before and just laughed, threatening to take pictures. His mother cooed over Jiroh and made him cookies when she had the time. It was weird.

He appreciated his parents. Even if they were insane.

"You smell strange." Which was true. His boyfriend smelled like a combination of sugar and grass.

He couldn't see the smile but he felt it against his skin. "That's always nice to hear."

"You're welcome."

"I didn't say thank you."

"It was heavily implied."

Jiroh laughed, all happiness and yellow blankets, and he couldn't explain how cute everything his boyfriend did was. Sometimes the cheeriness was too much and he had to burrow away into the world of losing and snide remarks about their relationship. But the winning and _aren't you two adorable_ made it worth it. Not okay, but worth it. He felt a poke in his chest and he zoned back into the conversation. "Ryoma, tell me your favorite color."

"Why does it matter?"

"I don't know." Blond curls twirled against slender fingers. It was so sleek and smooth but he caught the curves of the twinkle in his boyfriend's eyes. Too much time with Atobe. "Why does it?"

Definitely too much time with Atobe. He smirked, suddenly. "Your eyes are nice."

Jiroh hit him on the arm. It was hard enough that he winced. "Stop saying random thing about me."

"Mada-"

"-Mada-"

"-Dane.

They looked at each other. Jiroh stuck out his tongue. "I don't like you."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

They kissed each other, then, and it made him feel alive enough that he never wanted to sleep. But they did, rolling into the carpet of dreams together.

* * *

Fluff. I love you fluff.

By the way, Ryoma was trying to tell Jiroh that his eyes were his favorite color.


End file.
